"
Here Iberville would have spoken, but Perrot waved his hand. "De grace,
a minute only. Monsieur Gering, the brave English lieutenant, is at
Hudson's Bay, and next summer he will go with the great William Phips--
Tonnerre, what a name--William Phips! Like a pot of herring! He will go
with him after the same old treasure. Boston is a big place, but I hear
these things."
Usually a man of few words, Perrot had bursts of eloquence, and this was
one of them. But having made his speech, he settled back to his tobacco
and into the orator's earned repose.
Iberville looked up from the fire and said: "Perrot, you saw her in New
York. What speech was there between you?"
Perrot's eyes twinkled. "There was not much said.
"I put myself in her way. When she saw me her cheek came like a peach-
blossom. 'A very good morning, ma'm'selle,' said I, in English. She
smiled and said the same. 'And your master, where is he?' she asked
with a fine smile. 'My friend Monsieur Iberville?' I said; 'ah! he will
be in Quebec soon.' Then I told her of the abbe, and she took from a
chain a little medallion and gave it me in memory of the time we saved.
her. And before I could say Thank you, she had gone--Well, that is all
--except this.
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